


take heart in your agonies

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Corporal Punishment, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, is there a technical term for spanking w a belt??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23313760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: pwp drabble as always. aziraphale is a good boy during his punishment, and reaps his eventual rewards
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	take heart in your agonies

**Author's Note:**

> i make questionable choices in life. if michael sheens fanfic browsing ever leads him to me i hope he knows im so fucking sorry

Aziraphale loves this. Loves having Gabriel's fingers in his hair, stroking a subtle, soothing pattern against his scalp. Loves the feel of his cock down his throat, resting hot and heavy atop his tongue. He doesn't even have to do anything.

It's easy business, cockwarming. Gabriel makes it even easier with the cushion laid underneath his knees. A pleasant lilac color--though, ironically smelling more like lavender. Of course it had to be scented, it was Gabriel's creation. Gabriel's last second miracle, made to soften the blow of wooden tiling against delicate angel legs.

And he praises him, too. Keeps up the myriad of sweet nothings until Aziraphale either pops off to tell him to tone it down, or he finally reaches his climax. He has his rough points; the sharp edges and bursts of irritation that, honestly, rile up Aziraphale more than any anger should. They usually play around with it when Gabriel's in a particularly sour mood. The kind that comes about for no reason, and just can't be cured--except with sex, of course. Sex can subdue most of the woes in Gabriel's life at this point. He's not a hard man to please.

"Up. I want you over my lap." Gabriel's voice interrupts Aziraphale's cock-induced stupor. The fingers in his hair tighten, and there's a sharp, tugging strain on the roots that follows. Aziraphale rises to his feet. Clambering into Gabriel's lap, and--despite his better judgement--rutting his hips ever so slightly against the crux of Gabriel's thigh.

"Naughty thing," Gabriel murmurs, poorly smothering a chuckle. "you know better, sweetheart."

"Mmph, but I wan' it." Aziraphale sighs, nestling his face into Gabriel's shoulder.

"Silly little love. You're insatiable, y'know?" Gabriel says. "Trousers down. Sit still, and be good for me, won't you?"

And Aziraphale obeys. Willing, quiet, letting his legs spread as he shuffles onto his stomach. Propped up over Gabriel's knee, his fingers drumming against the sofa cushion. Gabriel fiddles with his belt buckle, slipping it from its loops, and tugging his trousers all the way to his knees. Panties strangling his thighs, already clearly stained with the aftermath of his arousal.

"That's a good boy. Oh, aren't you so sweet for me?" Gabriel's lilt rises to saccharine extremes, his fingers sliding between the slick, sticky warmth of his folds.

"Such a pretty cunt, too. It's a shame I have to hurt it to get your ditzy little head in order."

Three fingers press in at once. Scraping across Aziraphale's inner walls, scissoring and stretching him open for pure humiliation's sake, Aziraphale's breath tightens up on a sob, hitching weakly as he startles, _gasps_.

"That's all you're getting for now." Gabriel sharpens, pulling his arm back, fingers coming out soaked to the third knuckle.

"A-are you going to hurt me, Sir?" Aziraphale asks, offering a pleading glance back to Gabriel. Really, he quite likes this part. Playing up the bit of being a shy, sheepish participant. Too timid to word his thoughts within any level of description. Inexperienced, vulnerable--just waiting to get fucking _ravished_.

"Mmh," Gabriel hums, a hand tracing over Aziraphale's ass, cupping his left cheek. "do you think you deserve to be hurt, Aziraphale? Is that what you need?"

Aziraphale tenses. His breathing goes stiff, flatlining. He picks at the side of his thumb, pretends to be lost to the throes of his own internal debate, before eventually replying.

"Yes, sir."

And Gabriel's resounding smirk is nearly audible.

"Good," he says. "because, as far as I'm concerned, you're an angel in need of a little discipline, right? Have to be shown your place; told what to do, and how to do it."

Aziraphale pouts, squirming a little in response. He doesn't say much like this, not while he's sinking into his headspace. The hand on his ass starts to squeeze, and it's nice at first, very, very nice. He might even describe it as _lovely_ \--

And then, there's the first _smack_.

"Sir!" Aziraphale squeaks out. "That--that hurts, please don't-- _oh_."

Gabriel smacks him again. Cold, unyielding, paying no mind to Aziraphale's pleas. The slight chime of the belt buckle at his side as he shifts in his seat remains present. A quiet, if unnerving threat. He knows he'll be suffering at the receiving end of its torments within a few minutes, if he's lucky. And his knees are already twitching at the thought alone, legs shivering.

"Poor baby," Gabriel coos, stroking up and down his thighs. "I know, I know. That must be _awfully_ painful."

Despite his comforts, Gabriel doesn't let up. There's a spare number of couplets placed along his cheeks without any certain rhythm to the pace of it. Aziraphale has no way to predict the timing between each spank. His adrenaline spikes, and his stomach scourges with the tight, searingly white heat of nerves drenched in arousal. His hands fist the sofa cushion, fingers trembling under the strain of his grip. Pale-knuckled and pitiful.

"You're taking it so well, Aziraphale. That's it, just like that. You don't even flinch. What a good, sweet boy. _My_ sweet boy." Gabriel tells him, giving his backside a final, gentle pat before reaching for the belt. The buckle jingles like a church bell chime, and Aziraphale has no doubt the pain that awaits him will be an absolute, thoroughly religious cleansing. A purification, of sorts. He can't wait.

"Color, lovely?" Gabriel asks.

"Green," Aziraphale struggles not to choke on the word. "very green, please, Sir."

"And you remember your word?"

"Eden, sir."

"That's right, what a brave little angel." Gabriel praises, a hand running down the small of his back. Rubbing in a careful, back and forth rhythm. The belt raises as he's soothing Aziraphale, and it's clearly a ploy at distraction. A hope at easing the wretched sting of anticipation. Aziraphale appreciates it greatly,no matter how obvious it might be.

There's a crack, the sound of dull metal hitting skin. Aziraphale cries out, squeezing his thighs together. Both protecting more delicate areas from any leather-wracked harm, and seeking out purchase for friction. Gabriel's other hand grips him again, clutching at the afflicted, pinkening bruise. The mark left behind is already developing beautifully, and he gloats internally, proud of his work.

"Sir, that's too much. I can't--can't take my punishment." Aziraphale whimpers, a hand reaching back to rub at his sore, bruised bottom. Gabriel forces it down, remaining belligerent, and ignoring anything Aziraphale has to say. He snaps the belt again, making sure to catch the metal on the tender flesh where cheek met thigh. Aziraphale yowls like a puppy scorned. Whining helplessly--and enjoying the thought of being helpless just a _little_ too much.

"I think you can, angel. You're _my_ angel, after all. I know what you can and can't take." Gabriel disregards the playful begging, only bringing the belt down harder in turn. Aziraphale kicks his feet, grumbles uselessly--even wiggling in Gabriel's lap, hoping that might throw his aim off. It does, actually. In fact, Gabriel drops the belt completely.

He chooses to opt out of his divine chastising. Instead tugging Aziraphale up by his hips, flipping him onto his back, and pulling him into place until his thighs are locked around his neck. His trousers removed entirely--along with his panties, for that matter. Knees hooked over the back of the sofa, and cunt on full display for Gabriel to devour. 

" _God_ ," Gabriel sighs. "you smell so good."

Aziraphale bristles, turning red. "Don't say that. 'S embarrassing."

"But you do. It's just the truth."

Gabriel doesn't have the chance to say anything else--anything somehow _more_ mortifying--as he dives down without another word. Tongue plunging in between Aziraphale's folds, tracing over the length of his slit. Aziraphale shudders, hips jumping at the surge of sudden heat that floods his cunt. Chubby, full lips flushed pink, and clit swollen to the point a pair of fingers stroking over him could've done the trick. Gabriel's mouth, at this stage, is pure overkill.

"Tastes so good." Gabriel moans, sounding all the more exhilarated for it. "You always taste _so good_."

Aziraphale whines, despite himself. "Do you just--f- _fuck_ , do you get off on humiliating me?"

"Sometimes."

The glint in Gabriel's eyes is enough to show he isn't lying. Aziraphale's hips buck again, a victim to Gabriel's insistent fortitude as he nestles his way in between the outer labia, mouth suckling at his clit. His tongue flits over it in divine synchronicity, laving the small nub in overdoses of attention--more than it can take. More than _Aziraphale_ can take, actually.

"Sir," Aziraphale sobs out. "Sir--Sir, _please_ \--I can't, I can't--"

And Gabriel knows what he needs without asking. "Cum for me, darling. It's alright, I'm right here, just let go."

Aziraphale heeds the command, thighs clamping hard around Gabriel's neck when he finally cums. His abdomen clenches, surging with a feathery, flutter-like feeling as everything reaches its glorious, well-anticipated peak. Aziraphale falls limp in his lap, letting Gabriel work him through it. The Archangel's lips look swollen, and his jaw must be aching with the overextension of being used so thoroughly. But he doesn't let up. Regardless of how his own muscles might weary, he'd rather give out entirely, than take pause during his favorite pastime.

Eventually, Aziraphale gives him respite. Nudging his head weakly away, and shivering at the soft, wet sound his mouth makes as it leaves him. Like kissing, only better. Much, _much_ better.

"Sweet boy," Gabriel smiles. "you did so well. C'mere, sit up."

He manages to help shuffle Aziraphale out of the awkward position. Arms pressed tight around him, a pleasant weight against his back. Holding him from that point on, and not letting go for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> 🐛 bug funk


End file.
